


Deprivation

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: Castiel feels like an angel when he can't breathe.Written for the2019 Lucifer Advent.
Relationships: Castiel/Lucifer (Supernatural)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Deprivation

The windowpanes on every window down the block are encrusted with frost. The snow on the sidewalks has been mixed into a brown slurry by a multitude of stomping feet, but the shoppers have all cleared up by now, and the slush is beginning to reform into sheet of solid ice. All the businesses down the street have closed. It’s Christmas Eve, and Christmas, Dean says, is for family. But what family does Castiel have now?

The further he goes, the colder the air grows around him. The oxygen seems to grow thin, and Castiel’s lungs burn with each inhalation. He’s never felt that before. Across the street sits the only business still open, a dingy Chinese restaurant that only serves takeout. The two owners watch Castiel through the dimly illuminated glass. He knows what they are, and they know what he is, but for some reason, they don’t impede his path. Perhaps they perceive no threat. Perhaps that girl told them all what happened and they know he’s no threat.

_You're cut off from the home office and you ain't got the juice. So what can you do, you impotent sap?_

Castiel lowers his head and keeps walking.

The entrance of the hotel is roped off and plastered with a large sign that reads CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. Castiel looks up, and a mere flicker of light beckons from the top window. He stretches his wings, flies, and stumbles as he lands, an uneven patch of carpet catching against his shoe. It’s the last warning to turn back, Castiel knows, but he keeps walking, down the long hallway and to the partially open door.

"Hello, brother."

Lucifer is draped across a chair, one leg hooked over the chair’s arm and his fingers clasped lightly at his waist. His mouth stretches in a smug, uneven smile that lifts his usually tired features in a playful, almost boyish manner. 

“Somehow I knew you’d come.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Castiel says. He turns for the door, but Lucifer stands at once, blocking his path with a simple gesture. 

“You just got here. Why don’t we sit for a while, talk. Surely you realize if anyone had wanted to hurt you, we’d already have had the chance.”

“Talk...” Castiel echoes. He tries not to breathe in, but his vessel’s lungs ache. Lucifer is so close. He smells like grace and cold, like smoke and sweetness and sin, like all manner of things that Castiel should not want but does. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, but I think we do. You could start by telling me why you’re here for instance.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. He stinks of failure and mortality, and here Lucifer still smells like Heaven. 

“Are you lonely?” he asks, drawing closer. “Because I understand. I’ve been lonely for a long, long time, and it is such a terrible time of year to be alone.”

“This holiday means nothing,” Castiel says, and Lucifer laughs. 

“Holiday? What holiday? I was talking about the cold.” Lucifer stretches his hand out. His fingers brush over Castiel’s tie and follow the line up to his neck and then his chin. Lucifer extends two fingers and turns Castiel’s face up towards his. “You look warm.”

Castiel doesn’t feel warm. He feels hot. There’s a line of fire trailing from his face to his stomach, and he can feel it spreading lower still. He stares up at Lucifer, knowing this is the point when he should escape, but his mouth hangs open, and his lips are dry with thirst. Castiel has wanted this since Carthage—to feel grace, to feel close to another angel, to feel that celestial contentment that comes from being part of a whole. So Castiel lets Lucifer kiss him. He lets Lucifer’s soft, cool mouth press against his own. He lets Lucifer’s hands cradle his waist and lets himself be pulled close until their bodies are flush. He even lets Lucifer’s tongue pass his lips, chasing it with his own until he’s gasping from this new want of air. 

Lucifer chuckles. “Get on the bed,” he orders, and Castiel obeys. 

He throws his shoes and coat aside then lies flat while Lucifer does the rest. Castiel’s tie slips from his neck in something like a caress. The buttons on his shirt come apart one by one, and Lucifer pushes the fabric open to expose Castiel’s chest inch by inch. His fingers dance over Castiel’s skin in a featherlight caress that only makes Castiel think of wings. He squirms, arching up towards Lucifer’s hand only for him to pull away until Castiel is relaxed again. 

“Patience,” Lucifer chides. 

His hands pass over Castiel's skin as he removes clothing, unwrapping him like a gift. Castiel lifts his hips off the bed as Lucifer, still completely dressed, pulls his pants off. That same insufferable smile is back upon his lips as he examines Castiel's naked form, trailing one finger up the underside of Castiel's erection. 

"Aren't you pretty?" Lucifer coos. 

Castiel reaches up for him. The fleeting pleasure only makes the ache worse. He needs Lucifer closer, needs to touch him, needs to hold him, but Lucifer pushes him back down with a firm hand on his throat. Lucifer leans down, resting his forehead against Castiel's for several seconds before tilting his head for another kiss, and as they kiss, he tightens his grip, giving Castiel's neck a soft squeeze that he feels between his legs. 

"You want me to make you feel Heaven again," Lucifer whispers, and it's a statement rather than a question. 

He sits on his knees just long enough to pull his shirt over his head then leans down for one more kiss, the coolness of his chest a balm against Castiel's burning skin. With one hand still on Castiel's neck, Lucifer slides the other down--two grips, one soft and one firm. One hand begins to move while the other stays still, holds fast. Castiel's mouth hangs open, and he stares up as the air is pulled from his lungs yet again. His lips tremble with an instinct, and he struggles to breathe. Angels aren't supposed to need to breathe. They aren't supposed to need air or sleep or food or the satisfaction of this horrible desire. But Castiel does. Lucifer's fingers slacken again, and Castiel sucks in air, shuddering at the wave of sensation. 

"Fuck me," he manages between gasps, but Lucifer doesn't move. "Lucifer, fuck--"

Castiel gets no further. Lucifer squeezes his throat again, putting his weight into his grip now so that Castiel gapes for want of air. His lashes flutter, and his vision blurs just slightly, a pleasant dizziness buzzing in his head. He can still feel his cock, so full of pressure and want only stoked by the soft caress of Lucifer's hand. He palms Castiel until he's leaking then takes him in hand and strokes up and down. The air rushes back into Castiel's lungs, and he reaches up again. 

"Please. Please."

Lucifer makes a thoughtful noise then presses on Castiel's throat again, but with the next rush of air, Castiel is greeted by the sound of rustling denim. He spreads his legs further, pulling his knees back to expose himself. Something cool and wet circles his rim, and Castiel starts to gasp but can't finish. The air stays stuck in his throat, and it burns like Lucifer's fingers pushing inside of him. Castiel closes his eyes, and he breathes as he's stretched. Lucifer's thumb rubs over Castiel's jawline before both hands move to push his legs back. Castiel folds under Lucifer's weight, and he manages half a moan as Lucifer enters him, but then his airway is closed off again. 

Lucifer has both hands at Castiel's throat now. He pushes down with the weight of his upper body while his hips settle into a steady rhythm. Castiel's perception narrows to those two points of contact. Lucifer's fingers dig into Castiel's throat, and the head of his cock rubs against Castiel's prostate with each pass. Castiel's head spins, and his body clenches. The world grows fuzzy around him as he dissolves into pleasure. Angels don't need to breathe. The fresh air feels cold every time, but Lucifer's skin has started to warm. 

Castiel wraps his legs around Lucifer's hips, offering more skin to skin contact in a wordless plea for more, and Lucifer thrusts into him harder, faster. His entire being is under pressure--his neck held in Lucifer's hands, his hole stretched and filled sending jolts of pleasure to his cock squeezed between their bodies. Castiel's head swims, and there is nothing, nothing in this moment except him and Lucifer and the movement of their bodies. Castiel hears a noise, a loud, ragged cry that he doesn't recognize as his own voice until more oxygen has flowed into his brain. The rush brings a new wave of bliss, and he's aware of his body twitching and clenching, warm wetness being spread between their bodies, Lucifer pulsing inside him. Castiel drags in a long breath and then another. His body goes limp on the bed, and he cries for the relief of it all. Lucifer's hands are soft now, his touch tender as he unfolds himself from Castiel's body and pulls him close into an embrace. 

Angels don't need to sleep, but Castiel does. He wakes with Lucifer's arm draped across him and lies in the dark for a long while before extracting himself from the bed and gathering his discarded clothing. 

"Are you leaving?" Lucifer asks, and Castiel jumps even though he knew Lucifer wasn't sleeping. "It's still cold out."

"I shouldn't be here," Castiel mutters, awkwardly wiping himself with a tissue. 

Lucifer breathes a light laugh. "You always say that, and it's never true." Castiel frowns at him over his shoulder. "Come on now, Castiel. It's warm here. Stay until the snow stops."

"All right." Castiel tosses the tissue on the floor with his clothes and crawls back under the thick covers. "But just until the snow stops."

"Of course," Lucifer says, pulling Castiel close again. 

Somehow, Castiel just knows it's going to snow through Christmas. 


End file.
